


Playground Games

by miusmius, tinmiss1939



Series: DBH Mafia AU [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, F/M, Mafia AU, OT3, Paparazzi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miusmius/pseuds/miusmius, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinmiss1939/pseuds/tinmiss1939
Summary: Dating the heirs to the Detroit Mafia comes with risks far outside the experience of a school teacher. Ona’s personal life follows her to work.





	Playground Games

School playgrounds were a terribly cliché location for conflict and Ona had thought she’d seen all the sub-tropes. She had mediated scuffles after a trading card game, stopped hair pulling over a first crush, intervened into name-calling that rapidly devolved into shoving. Occasionally there was blood, but more often skinned knees and tears.

These photographers...they hadn’t pulled a classmate’s braids. They had appeared at her lunch hour, taking pictures from across the street. The early spring day had been surprisingly warm so she ate outside in the garden behind the school. She had chatted with the music teacher, Chris, about the arts budget. She had only noticed the men briefly, assumed they were surveyors, and gone back to debating grant applications.

They had spied on recess time, when she was distracted with talking Jimmy off the top of the jungle gym. Their mistake had been asking sweet little Alice Williams which teacher was “Miss Boxie” and what she thought of her. A clever girl, Alice had walked right past Miss Boix and into the building to tell the Vice Principal, Miss Chen. Miss Chen sent security after the photographers, called all the children inside for punch and cookies in the gym and asked Ona to text the Anderson Boys. Boys defending a girl’s honor on the playground after school—maybe it was a cliché after all.

Waiting by the swing set, Ona didn’t understand why Tina wanted Connor and Richard here – the security guards weren’t Navy SEALS, but these guys weren’t exactly master criminals, either. She sat on the swings and studied them. They looked almost harmless at this distance, kneeling on the blacktop and surrounded by Dan and Stanley, the security guards on duty. She couldn’t see much – the backs of flannel shirts, cargo pants, and Crocs. By posture alone, though, the middle guy looked like he was about to shit his pants. The school’s security should be capable of warning them off.

The building’s doors slammed open. Once she saw the expressions on her boys’ faces, Ona immediately understood why Tina had called them. Good Lord, they looked like—well, they looked different, actually. Connor, consigliere and negotiator, walked like a hurricane, flanked by the head of school security and snapping orders about CCTV and new guard rotations. Richard, the enforcer, was more like a volcano—silent, simmering, and very tall.

Intellectually, she understood they were almost the same height (within a centimeter) but Richard always looked taller. Maybe it was posture?

They spotted her. She sat up straighter herself—a reflex, somehow. She’s gotten over the double vision effect months ago, but they still made butterflies dance in her stomach. 

Connor stopped on her right, kissing the top of her head before scanning the perimeter again. Richard—sweet, quiet Richard—knelt at her feet, kissing her hand like she was a princess. Thankfully, the security crew had turned their backs to give them privacy.

“I’m fine. You’re both over-reacting. They didn’t get any good photos,” she giggled. “They couldn’t even get my name right.” Hmm, maybe she was less okay that she thought? She must sound hysterical. Then her eyes watered—shit, they would burn down the school if she started crying. She pulled Richard closer so he couldn’t see her face. He wrapped his arms around her waist with a deep sigh. 

From above her, Connor’s voice was heated, frustrated. “They should know better. You should be off limits. All personal associations are off limits to the press unless it’s official business, and then they go through the PR team.”

She kissed Richard’s cheek and then looked up to Connor. “It’s going to be okay. Tina is already drawing up plans for better security coverage and we will add more teaching assistants at recess. No one will get to Cole, I swear—"

Connor leaned down and kissed her mouth—hard, hot, wet. His lips coaxed hers open. She immediately surrendered. His eager tongue swept through her mouth once, twice, and when he pulled away she whimpered at the loss.

“No one will touch you,” Connor said softly.

Richard’s hands tightened around hers. “No one will touch Cole, either,” he said with a small smile, “We know you’ll worry anyway, dearest heart, but you will never need to worry about him or yourself. That is our duty.” Then Richard stood and kissed her—brief, chaste, but still so achingly sweet. “Stay here, turtledove. This might get unpleasant.”

They returned to the blacktop, leaving Ona speechless but very, very warm. Both men exchanged a few words the security guards, looking through confiscated wallets and cameras. They seemed to have reached an agreement, as the guards pulled back to the fence, turning their backs on whatever might happen. Connor took a seat at the nearby picnic table, stretching out long legs and poking through the pile of camera bags. Richard took off his suit coat and took a position in front of the three men, rolling up his black shirtsleeves. 

“Walter Hilton, Matthew Winchell, Perry Drudge,” Connor announced. “All independent contractors, very little exposure outside of Detroit. Winchell, I don’t think you’ve ever sold tabloid photos before.” Connor pulled out a quarter and rolled it over his knuckles. “A target of local interest at best. You had an incorrect name and then asked a child for assistance. Not impressive. These cameras, however, are expensive and very new.” He flipped the coin in the air. “Curious.”

The middle one, Winchell, let out a howl and started crying. Richard tilted his head, confused, and glanced back at Connor. Connor shrugged back and asked, “Mr. Winchell, do you have something to share with the class?”

“I’m so sorry! I’m so so sorry,” he cried. He looked over his shoulder at Ona. “Miss, I am so sorry for violating your privacy.” Ona stood from the swing and walked over, stopping just behind Richard’s shoulder. “Please, Miss. I’m sorry…”

The apologies grew increasingly incoherent, so Connor raised his voice to ask, “Who hired you?”

“The Walkers. Tiffani Walker and her daughter, Madisyn.” Winchell sobbed. “I’ll never do it again. I don’t even want to take tabloid photographs!” A wet spot appeared on the front of his trousers. Ona gasped—he’d wet his pants.

Richard threw up his hands. “I didn’t even touch him,” he grumbled.

“And you won’t,” Ona said firmly. She stepped forward, ignoring the strangled sounds Richard made as she moved out of his reach. He was such a worrier. She touched the man’s shoulder. “I accept your apology.” She smiled. “Now, this happens all the time here. We keep a stock of spare underwear and clothes in the nurse’s office. Let’s go find something, okay?”

He sniffled, rubbing his nose on his shirt. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She guided him towards the building and handed him off to the hovering security guard, Dan. Dan was one of the sweeter guards and would get the poor boy to the nurse’s office. Returning to the picnic table, she tossed a wink at Connor

Connor adjusted his tie and picked up one of the cameras. “Mr. Hilton,” he said, “You are fairly new in town. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Fuck you! I was hired for a job and I was on public property the whole time,” the man snarled. “What the fuck is this? The Sopranos?”

Connor’s lips smiled but it did not reach his eyes as he replied, “Yes.”

Sometimes Ona forgot how fast Richard moved. The photographer didn’t have time to recognize his mistake before Richard pulled his left arm out, wrenched it back, and twisted. There was a soft snap then a slight grinding noise as Richard twisted harder. The man screamed. Richard let go and the arm hung limply at an angle that was simply wrong and he kept screaming— 

A camera was shoved into her hands, and Ona looked down on reflex to see the prettiest picture of a grey kitten in the grass, playing with white and pink rose petals. Connor advanced to the next image, and it was the same kitten with a butterfly on its nose.

“Awww!” She looked up to see a mischievous smile warming Connor’s brown eyes. He was a rotten trickster, trying to distract her from the carnage with cat pictures. “I’m fine, Connor. I’ll leave if I get uncomfortable.”

He studied her face for a moment and seemed to accept it. He turned his attention back to the pathetic soul writhing in Richard’s hold. “Shoulder dislocations are painful but do not always cause permanent damage,” Connor said evenly. “Now, if the arm is held too long out of anatomical position, there can be compromise to the blood and nerve supply—" He paused as Hilton started nodding vigorously. Richard and Connor exchanged considering looks. Ona didn’t see the signal, but Richard twisted the arm back and Hilton gasped with relief.

It all came out in a rush. “Tiffani Walker paid each of us to get any pictures of Ona Boxie—I mean, Miss Boix. She provided the cameras and the locations. We get a bonus for any embarrassing or compromising pictures.”

Richard looked back to Connor, who tossed him a camera. Richard ripped off the telephoto lens, dropped the body of the camera, and ground it into the asphalt.

“The Anderson family and all associates are off limits,” Connor said. “Additionally, taking pictures of children on a playground—even incidentally—is reprehensible.”

The man paled.

“Mr. Hilton, I have been informed that you also dabble in web design. Luckily for you, the pet shelter on Summit Street is working on its social media presence. You will help them fix up the website and take pictures of all the dogs and cats for the next month.”

Richard frowned. “Two months.”

“Three months!” Hilton squeaked out. “Pet shelter on Summit. It will be a pleasure.”

“Three months it is,” Connor said. Richard pulled him to his feet while waving over Stanley, the second security guard.

“Wait!” Ona said, jumping up to stop them. Hilton was cradling his left forearm in his right hand on instinct, but it wasn’t quite right. She moved his right hand to pull the arm closer and support it more. “Like this. Stanley will take you to Coach Reed’s office. There are some slings in the athletic trainer’s office. That will help until you see a doctor.” She accepted his quiet thanks.

Richard looked startled at this exchange, then his expression relaxed into a tiny smile. Suddenly feeling shy, she ducked her head and sat down again.

“And you, Perry Drudge,” Connor said, turning to the last man. “You have been warned before. One year ago you followed our father on a date. Six months ago, you took pictures of Cole at the Art Institute. I remember you and Richard having a very interesting conversation after that. You know the Anderson family is off limits.”

“She’s not an Anderson!”

Connor raised his eyebrows. His voice was colored with disbelief as he said, “That’s really where you want to go with this? That’s your defense?”

“But she’s not!” the man whined, “No offense, but she’d just a girl.” He looked back and forth between the brothers, searching for some kind of confirmation. “No one can find anything on the background research. I didn’t think you’d make a such a fuss over some broad…”

“She’s ours,” Richard said tightly.

The idiot’s miserable face suddenly lit up like it was Christmas. “It’s serious? You guys moving in together? Any plans for a wedding?” Connor rolled his eyes. Ona couldn’t read all of Richard’s tells but she saw the shift in his stance, the spasm in his jaw. 

The back of Richard’s hand landed like a meteor across the Drudge’s face, then Richard wrenched him back upright by his hair. “I said, ‘She’s ours.’ It is not complicated.”

“Say it,” Connor ordered.

He was answered with an intelligible moan.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said with a terrifying brightness. “I don’t think I heard that properly.”

Drudge spat blood. “Thee’s yowas.”

“Say it!”

“She’s yours! She’s part of the Andersons and she’s off limits.”

“Excellent,” Connor said. Behind the pile of camera equipment, Connor’s hand discretely covered hers before he continued. “Now, what locations did Tiffani Walker give you?”

Perry didn’t hesitate, saying, “Here, her apartment, an art gallery on Jefferson Avenue and a café. Literary Tea or Literati Coffee or something” Ona’s suddenly felt very far away from the warm sunshine and cool spring breeze. There was an odd bitter taste in her mouth. She went to that café every weekend to meet her sister for tea. She’s agreed to help her old college roommate with a gallery opening, but she hadn’t even seen the gallery yet. Her apartment. Her apartment—

A firm grip on her hand grounded her. Connor’s hand felt like the only warm thing in the world. She breathed deeply, letting the breath out slowly over an 8 count. She squeezed back.

“Is there anything else?”

“No, I swear. Trail the girl, get some pictures,” he gasped. “School, apartment, cafe, gallery.”

The gallery. Ona drummed her fingers on the weathered picnic table. Christina’s gallery opening. There was something off about that. It was like an alarm clock where she could only find the ‘snooze’ button—every few minutes the thought would return, worse than before.

Connor shot up off the bench, approaching Perry for the first time. Richard stepped behind him at the same pace, a pair of wolves circling a rabbit. Connor leaned in close.

He said, quite softly, “You’re a fucking liar and you know what else? You are a bad liar.” A moment, a breath, while Connor studied his face. Connor’s expression shifted to rage. He shouted, “What are you not telling us?!”

Their victim leaned back but ran into Richard’s iron grip. Perry shook his head. “There’s nothing else.”

Richard delivered a punch to his right flank. Something crunched. Another blow on the left, and another crunch that left Perry wheezing.

Connor returned to the picnic table but didn’t sit down. Rather, he stopped next to Ona with his back to Richard’s boxing practice. He looked down at her fondly, stroking a thumb along her cheek. He twined a lock of her hair around his finger. “You’re thinking so loudly, sunshine,” he said. “Tell me?” His voice was sweet and gentle again, a tone only for her. She refused to be distracted by the way Connor played with her hair, tugging and releasing so the curl bounced around.

“Connor, something doesn’t add up,” she said slowly. “Nobody should know about that gallery. Christina and I talked last week and I agreed to help her set up a gallery opening. We were alone on my balcony when we discussed it. Nobody was there.“

“How well do you know her?“ Connor asked.

“She was my college roommate. She’s married to my cousin and I introduced them. She’s family.“

His gaze was still on her, but became a little unfocused. “Sometimes family doesn’t turn out the way you expect.”

“If she wanted to hurt me, she knows better skeletons than my schedule.”

Connor nodded and seemed to return to the present. “How many ribs is that, Richard?”

His brother brushed back dark hair. He said, “Two cracked on the left, two on the right.” He tilted his head, reconsidering, then pressed firmly on Drudge’s left lower back, making the photographer gasp. “No, sorry. One cracked, one fractured on left. Two cracked on the right. I’d better lay off the ribs—unless we want him in a hospital.”

“No,” Connor said with a sad sigh. “Not today.” He sat on the picnic table, looking up at the cloudy sky while he pondered his words. “When Tiffani Walker gave you the cameras, who else was in the room?”

“Look, Mr. Anderson, I don’t know her name—“

“But you know enough to be afraid, so tell me what you know.” Connor leaned over on his elbows. “You seem to be more afraid of them than you are afraid of us. You want Richard to change you mind?”

“No,” the man whispered. “No, I just—I don’t want to get involved.”

Connor’s face softened in an instant. “Perry. Maybe you didn’t know it then, but you got involved the minute you took Tiffani Walker’s call.” He spread his hands wide. “This is your way out. We can help you out of this.”

He paused while Perry’s face twisted.

“All you have to do is trust us.”

“White, early 30s. Blonde, pretty in wholesome, graham cracker kind of way, but a resting bitch face worse than the Mayor.”

Richard squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Go on.”

“She had on a dark suit, white starched shirt, clunky heels that looked like Ferragamo. The line of the suit wasn’t right—I think she had a gun.”

“So, she was a Fed?” Connor asked.

Perry hesitated. “I’m not sure. She had a weird lapel pin. It was a little sunburst looking thing. Normally the local FBI wear the American flag pins, if anything.”

Connor started rolling his quarter again, apparently thinking. Richard made a subtle hand gesture out of sight of Drudge. Connor palmed the coin into a pocket and said, “Apologize to the lady.”

“I’m sorry for intruding on your privacy, Miss Boix.”

Twin gazes looked at her. Ona nodded cautiously. That seemed to satisfy them and Connor moved next to his brother. He said, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Drudge. I would suggest you find a new city.”

“Maybe a new career,” Richard added.

Connor agreed, “If you are willing to leave now, we can reasonably guarantee your safety.”

Dan returned to escort him off the property. Perry hesistated, then said, “There’s picture of the blonde. It’s on an data card hidden in the bottom of my camera case.” He left with the guard.

They were suddenly alone.

Richard put his jacket back on. Connor reached into a pocket, pulling out some wet wipes for Richard’s hands. They sat down across from her. Connor cracked open a bottle of water pilfered from one of the camera bags. One of them, probably Richard, kicked her shoe gently. She kicked back with smile. 

Ona steeled herself. She felt they weren’t going to like her next statement. “I think I want a Taser. Or something.”

The boys looked at each other, and then grinned. Richard reached into his pocket to pull out a black box the size of a cellphone. He placed it on the table. The grins intensified. 

“You should practice,” Richard said eagerly. “Connor, heads or tails?”

Ona quickly waved down Connor. “Wait, what? That—that’s a Taser?” Ona said, trying to very hard not recoil from the electroshock weapon now sitting on a schoolyard picnic table. “And you’re going to give it to me, just like that? ‘Here’s your Taser. Loser goes first in target practice.’”

“Technically, it’s a compact stun gun,” Connor ventured cautiously, “but yes? Is that a problem? We have more at home.”

“And we’ve practiced on each other before,” Richard added. Ona reminded herself to breathe. Richard kept talking, as if that helped the situation. “This one has a lower voltage ‘pain compliance’ setting with much less risk of cardiac or nervous system damage.”

“No,” she insisted. “I mean—yes, thank you. But this?” She pointed back and forth between the two of them. “This enthusiasm? I don’t believe it. Where’s the patronizing lecture about how I don’t need it and you’ll protect me and I’ll probably shock myself on accident?”

They blinked a few times. They started talking over each other.

Connor’s Bambi eyes grew wide with concern. “Why would we say any of that? Why—”

“Of course, we’ll protect you,” Richard interrupted, “but if you can protect yourself—“

“Did someone say that before? Who—“

“And please don’t shock yourself. It has a lock mode—“

“We aren’t trying to patronize you with any of this—“

She started laughing—full bodied, clutch your belly, unrestrained laughing. They were so upset. She had never seen them this out of sync before. She had to put her head down or she’d pass out. It was the funniest thing she’d seen all week.

They abruptly stopped, looking like a pair of very confused puppies.

“Sunshine?” Connor asked. Richard reached for her hand very tentatively. She squeezed back and they relaxed.

She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I thought if I asked for a Taser, you’d help me pick out some mace or brass knuckles or something.” She grabbed Connor’s hand, pulling them together so she could lean over and kiss both hands at once. “Thank you. Let’s get out of here.”


End file.
